


321

by DarchangelSkye



Category: Canadian Idol RPF, Canadian Music RPF, Music RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Timeline, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Written in 2006, inspired by a blog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarchangelSkye/pseuds/DarchangelSkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AT where Jacob does *not* do the Infamous Hedley Blog Entry Of Doom. Y'all know which one ;)</p>
    </blockquote>





	321

**Author's Note:**

> AT where Jacob does *not* do the Infamous Hedley Blog Entry Of Doom. Y'all know which one ;)

_I heard a distant early warning_  
But I chose to ignore it  
And it came back and bit me  
Seems like we're victims of bad timing  
Cuz you wanted more than I did  
I couldn't give you what you need  
She said, hold me, hold me  
Closely, closely  
That's when I should've run

Looking back, Kalan's still not sure when it all started. It could've begun the moment Jason was gone and everyone realized things were really down to the wire. It could've begun with the smile of relief of Jacob's face as they all boarded their respective planes for the hometown visits. Or did it begin when they all returned and Jacob's personality did a complete 180 that was unusual even for him?

Kalan didn't come to Theresa or anyone else with his fears, not right off the bat. Maybe if he had, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.

***

None of the top three call or e-mail each other during the visits home, as per CTV orders. Something about being better focused on why they were really home- "To suck up the provincial vote," Jacob put it so bluntly when the powers that be were out of earshot.

As if Kalan could have time to contact anyone else. As soon as he's home he's bombarded by interviews, meet and greets, school visits, rallies, so much activity he barely has time to take a breath. He makes the mistake of expressing his fatigue aloud and a reporter laughs. "Better get used to it, kiddo. It's what an Idol lives for, after all!"

Kalan shudders on the inside.

***

The two days can't go by fast enough for Kalan. What feels like the next time he opens his eyes, the plane's touching back down at Toronto International.

Theresa's already in the terminal, so while they wait for Jacob's plane they share stories of the last 72 hours' happenings.

Before long, the final member of their little trinity arrives through the gate. The others almost don't notice as he's not running and jumping like a maniac like when he left, just quietly arriving like any other passenger. "Hey guys," he murmurs and gathers them in a simple hug, not one of his trademark tackles.

Right away Kalan finds that incredibly weird, but he says not a word. He's probably just tired, he brushes it off.

During the ride back to the mansion Jacob's back to his talkative self, even if it's more matter-of-fact talk about what he did. He rattles off all the radio interviews, adding a joke or two that Abbotsford's resident dueling DJs made. The only time his eyes light up is when describing the impromptu Hedley concert that happened, how the other guys were waiting at the airport for him and how happy they were to see him, how the crowds at the concerts showered them with so much love-

Kalan sighs to himself and thinks, _He's so grateful for all of that. Why the hell couldn't I feel that way?_

It isn't long before they're all back at the mansion, but only long enough to drop off their bags and eat. The relaxation of arriving "home" is short-lived.

***

It's the first time in a major recording studio for any of them; even Jacob is wide-eyed and impressed as they follow John Brunton down the hall. They're on their way to meet Perry Alexander, the session recorder and one of the co-writers of what will be the winner's first single, _Awake in a Dream_ ("Sounds like being in a coma," Theresa had secretly giggled when no one was listening).

After the casual handshakes and introductions, it's down to business with Perry explaining to the top three the importance of the session. It's standard procedure, he says (making it sound like a cut in the operating room, Kalan thinks) for all the top three to have the song recorded ahead of time so the winner's track can be shipped to radio stations as soon as possible.

"What happens to the other versions?" Theresa asks, and he shrugs.

"Put 'em in the vault, I guess." How final it sounds.

The instrumentals on the demo are nice enough, even if the studio singer sounds hollower than the vocals on a karaoke CD. The lyrics are a real dilly, though. They sound like the sweet words to a love song at first, but Kalan's no fool. The stuff about changed worlds, people standing by you, dreams come true, promising never to give up- _Man oh man, this has Idol single written all over it._

He looks over to the others. Ever-so-polite Theresa is smiling and nodding, but Jacob's lips are just trying not to smirk. _Well, who can blame him? This isn't his kind of music; if he stays with Hedley-_

But his thoughts are cut off as the song ends and Perry asks, "Well, whaddya think?"

"It's nice."

Good ol' Theresa. She could be a diplomat.

***

Recording is harder work than Kalan expects it to be. Naive little him had thought he'd get through it in two, maybe three or four takes, tops. But it ends up a good dozen or so takes for everyone, and each time Perry has a different request. "Theresa, I need more volume." "Kalan, sing it like you're hopeful." "Jacob, ease up on the attitude."

And so on and so forth. _We've all got a lot to learn._

By the end of an incredibly long afternoon, the vocals for three fairly decent versions of _Awake in a Dream_ are laid down and the Idols are allowed to go back to the mansion. No one says a word during the ride, just downs bottled water after bottled water.

A stuffed envelope is waiting for them when they arrive, with recordings and sheet music of the judges' picks: _Ready for Love_ and _What The World Needs Now_ for Theresa, _If You Don't Know Me By Now_ and _I Want You To Want Me_ for Jacob, _Nature Boy_ and _I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For_ for Kalan, and _In Your Eyes_ as the group song. No one comments negatively on the choices, or at least is in the mood to.

After dinner, their spirits feel more lifted and they retreat to the rec room for some good old-fashioned cheesy TV. Flipping through the channels, they see Billy Klippert's face twice- then again, it's the time period when _Levon_ and _Summer Nights_ are on the video channels about 97 times a day. "You don't hear much about Ryan nowadays, do you?" Theresa asks off-hand.

The guys just shake their heads- and Kalan doesn't like how pensive Jacob's expression gets then.

***

Monday rehearsals come and go without grand incident. It's only after they've been back at the mansion for a while that the events of the whole week start piecing together in Kalan's mind.

It begins simply enough. Drink in his hand, he's making his way to his room, intending to relax and think about anything but music, knowing that sooner or later he's going to miss these normal moments.

But something happens like always. It's an unspoken rule in life.

It's the sound coming from a certain direction, both things Kalan knows as well as his own name- Jacob playing music in his room.

So much for the promise he made to himself. He carefully sneaks over.

The closer he approaches, the louder he hears fancy guitaring from behind the door, the kind only Jacob can do, in between snatches of his rough-yet-pretty voice singing something out. Jacob has to be composing again; if the melody comes to him first, he ends up trying every set of lyrics he has until something clicks.

Kalan really shouldn't be listening, but he can't resist. He tiptoes closer and leans near the door.

"_I went down to the crossroads but the devil don't want my soul, looks like I'll have to practice if I wanna play Carnegie Hole-_" Jacob's voice stops in the middle of the melody. "Damn, that sucks even for me. What was the other one?" A flip of pages, the guitar starts again, "_So buy me the ocean and paint it with pretty stars-_ much better- _sell me to something, take me anywhere but here-_"

Kalan, meanwhile, is quietly giggling in between sips. Their opinions on what makes good lyrics are still miles away from each other, yet that's all right with him.

Jacob stops strumming and says aloud, "I know you're out there, Kalan. You can come in."

"Uh..." A guilty heat spreads across the teen's hairline and his free hand reaches for the door to push it open. Jacob's sitting on his bed, jeans on his body and guitar and notebook in his lap. He doesn't look annoyed at all. Phew. Kalan closes the door and leans against it.

"I...liked what you were doing there." _Oh, smooth, Porter._

But Jacob just shrugs. "Meh, it's gonna be a bear if I ever get it worked out. Wanna sit?"

Without a word, Kalan perches himself on the mattress, finishes his drink in one gulp, and sets it on the bedside table. Craning his neck gives him a better look at the notebook page nearly obliterated by scribbles and cross-outs. In curiosity, he hesitantly reaches out one thin arm. Jacob nods and the teen takes the book.

There's not so much reading of the handwriting as there is analyzing it as Kalan flips through the pages. In between each pair of blue lines are two rows of printed lettering, as if Jacob has to squeeze every possible bit of creative magic into the page, each song a talisman. Such a contrast to his flamboyant autographs.

"Someone sure doesn't like their capital letters," Kalan chuckles and keeps flipping until he reaches a blank page three-quarters of the way through.

"When you're busy pouring out your soul, some things don't matter," Jacob says and takes the book back.

"Are they all songs?"

"Lyrics, thoughts, dreams, snippets, that kind of junk- it's all me in this book, baby," the Abbotsford dynamo says matter-of-factly and taps the cover. "None of that fake happy-mask-for-the-world crap."

Kalan almost winces, but something tells him he needs to be more understanding. It's a rough time for everyone. "You...hope you'll be able to use them?" he asks, wanting to take a more positive approach to the conversation.

But Jacob doesn't quite take that. "I damn well better." He fiddles with the A-string. "This is one artist who's not getting screwed over. I have integrity, y'know."

"C'mon Jake, not everyone in the business is like that."

"Maybe not, but it's still important to me. If I didn't have my moments to play my own music, I'd go nuts." This is the quiet Jacob, the pensive and occasionally forlorn Jacob, and in some way, the teen thinks, the real Jacob. "Some days that's all I've got. It's like..." He strums for a thoughtful second. "You ever read Hemingway?"

"A little. In school." Kalan shrugs.

"Well, there's a series of his, starts with _Big Two-Hearted River_. About a WWI vet, who was wounded in Italy-"

"Aren't a lot of his characters like that?" Kalan chuckles in realization of familiarity.

"Yeah, I guess his work was autobiographical or something. Anyway," Jacob continues, "he goes fishing, and he doesn't think, just does. He catches the fish, guts the fish, eats the fish, washes the dishes, so on...He's coping."

After a quiet moment, the teen asks, "Is that what you're doing, Jacob? Coping?"

The other man sighs and keeps on strumming. "I'm trying, God knows I'm trying. Relying on faith to get through all of this in one piece, and it's not easy."

"So...you don't think faith's a lost cause?"

Jacob places a gentle hand on the teen's shoulder and draws him near. Again, it's not like one of his trademark tackle-hugs, but this time Kalan doesn't find it weird, he just knows.

He doesn't even have anything to say when he feels soft lips against his neck; Jacob does the talking then.

"Not when you have things to believe in," he murmurs, draws away, and picks up his guitar again. "You probably wanna hear something a lot mellower. I shouldn't be bringing you down-" he flips pages once more, "here we go."

He doesn't even look down to make sure his fingers are on the right strings. While he plays, all he can see is Kalan.

"_Some say love is not for sinners, I believe that isn't true...'cause when I was finished sinning, love came down and showed me you..._"

And all the young blond can see is Jacob.

***

The next time Kalan opens his eyes, it's past dark and he lies shielded under Jacob's arm. The rest of the older man's figure is sprawled out in sleep on top of the sheets, expression as concentrated as when he's awake. Kalan only regards it for a second before sliding out from underneath, closing the door on the way out, and tip-toeing back to his own room.

Once inside, he sits with his back to the door and shuts his eyes, though he can't fall asleep.

_I know you believe in faith, Jacob...but what about regret and the truth?_

He doesn't move from his spot until the sun rises.

***

Tuesday ends up the longest day of Kalan's life, and not just because they leave for final rehearsals so early in the morning. Reporters are waiting for them at the theatre, E-talk, CTV, the works, one camera or microphone after another in everyone's faces, questions coming from every angle. Polite as Kalan determines himself to be, the questions all start to become the same after a while, and when he looks over to Theresa, he knows she's feeling that way too.

Jacob hardly makes eye contact with anyone the whole time, mostly twirling his wristband and keeping his gaze near the floor like he's looking for cans to kick, while giving the shortest answers possible. From what Kalan can see when he looks over, these actions are aggravating more than one reporter.

_Jacob, are you_ trying _to make yourself look like a snot?_ Then he shakes his head, knowing that attitude isn't any better.

***

They sit in the audience, having already gone over their solo songs and group number ad infinitum, while Jacob is on the stage. _I Want You To Want Me_ has been performed with the typical Hoggard energy, all noise and light, and now he quietly stands, waiting for the lights to adjust. A dim, dark blue washes over him, creating eerie highlights on his skin and hair, making him, as Kalan observes, appear lonelier and more desperate than ever. Not even during In Your Eyes, where everyone had stayed close together, hands linked, never wishing to let go, did Jacob look so helpless.

So real.

"_If you don't know me by now..._"

Jacob's eyes, now pleading and sad, seem to be staring right at Kalan the whole time he sings. Adding to that his words, the teen almost feels like he's being challenged in front of everyone. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and forces himself to look away.

Softness touches the back of his hand, and he looks to see Theresa's fingertips. A tiny understanding smile is on her lips, yet he can't seem to nod assent.

***

Everyone retreats to different corners of the mansion when they arrive back after an early dinner. Wanting to follow the advice of getting enough rest, Kalan curls into his bed, eyelids shutting immediately. But no such luck yet on getting sleep. A faint ringing sounds on his bedside table, he recognizes it as his cell immediately.

Tired as he is, something inside him knows he has to answer the call. He grabs the cell with a, "Hello?"

"Hey, Kalan!"

"Oh." The teen sits up in recognition. Even if the rest of the top 10 won't be arriving until Friday, it's nice to hear a familiar voice. "Hi, Shane. Everything all right?"

"Maybe I should ask you that. Did I call at a bad time?"

_You don't know the half of it,_ but Kalan rubs his eyes and says, "Nah, we're back from rehearsal now, everyone's just by themselves. You want me to get Theresa or-" Brief hesitation. "-Jacob?"

"Uh-oh. Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Kalan gulps. He _knows_ something is wrong, the possibility has been nagging away in his mind all week, but up until now he's refused to acknowledge or speak it aloud.

As if doing so could make it true.

But he has to know.

"Shane, you and Jacob had to be the closest out of all of us...if you don't mind me saying."

"No, it's OK, go on."

"Well..." Kalan leans against the wall and traces the mattress stitching with a free finger. "At any time...like, when you were here or he was back in Abbotsford...did he act like he never wanted to be a part of all this?"

There. The forbidden question has finally been asked, and now Kalan holds his breath, just waiting for the older man to balk and ask him why the hell he'd think that.

Shane sighs on the other end, a thin, papery rattle. "The thing about Jacob...well, he's pretty complex, but I think we all knew that."

"Yeah," Kalan nods.

"Once people started getting sent home- and I'm talking the Top 100 rounds- I noticed he had the weirdest reaction, like- some sort of sadness, but almost like envy, you know what I mean?"

Kalan hums in understanding. It was like the envy a soldier feels seeing a dead friend on the battlefield. _At least it's over for him._

"When the Top 32 got picked, he seemed back in normal spirits, but somewhere along the line..." Another papery sigh. "He just couldn't take it anymore."

Almost like he knew what was going to happen. "Well, why not say anything then?"

Shane chuckles. "Nahhh. Jake may be as subtle as a water buffalo, but actions speak louder than words for him. You've seen it all too...the erratic behavior, outfits, song choices- it's like he was asking to get voted off. Talk about the third law of motion, huh?"

Kalan snorts. "Yep, he sure underestimated Canada on that one."

"That's our Jacob," Shane sighs in resignation.

"Why go into something like this if he wasn't serious? With all the pressure and expectations you'd think-"

The older man interrupts with, "Hey, you don't have to go all the way on these shows to be a success. Look at Clay Aiken!"

"At least Clay was serious." If Kalan could see his expression, it'd be sulky confusion, but that's not something he cares about right now.

"Like I said, Jacob's complicated. For all we know, he's figured out something we haven't...I take it he's never told you how he feels?"

Thinking back over the past week, the teen admits, "Not outright, but he's dropping enough hints. I've hardly ever seen him this quiet."

"Figures. I'd seen him quiet after results shows, but this late in the game? I'm betting he's serious."

"And he never told you anything?"

"No. Dammit, I wish he had if that's what he's doing now."

Kalan can just see Shane on the other end, frustrated as hell. _Welcome to the club,_ but all he asks is, "So, what? Should I say anything or just pretend everything's fine?"

A silence before: "I can't tell you what to decide, Kalan...all I know is pretending just kills everyone in the long run."

The teen can only nod. If he had just kept pretending with many things- his love for music, his feelings for Jacob, and now how this crisis was wearing down on him- he would've fallen apart. Yet all he says to that is, "I'll think about it."

"I know you will, kid," Shane says softly.

A warmth of reassurance passes through Kalan, the first time in a long time he's felt something like it. "Hey, Shane...another honest question?"

"Go ahead."

"If you knew then what you know now, would you have wanted to win?"

"Probably not. I'm happy with where I am, I can do what I want without fifty people telling me I'm doing it wrong, I don't have to worry about being away from home for months on end- what would happen when Angela when I start a family? I couldn't leave them lonely."

Kalan "hmm"s again.

"When they said winning isn't everything...I know they were talking _everything_."

***

Long after the talk has finished, Kalan lies on his bed to stare at the ceiling, his mind forming patterns in the texture. _Why is it,_ he thinks, _when I should be worrying about important things, I go off on the stupidest mental tangents?_ He sighs. _Well, you just answered your own question, Porter._ He rolls over and his gaze lands on the pile of suitcases.

_Which one was it in again?..._

Even since he's come back from Medicine Hat, most of his bags remain packed, possibly as a way of telling himself not to get too over-confident. He finds what he needs sitting atop a pile of shirts in one suitcase, and sits back with it on his bed- the photo album.

When Kalan was picked to be in the Top 32, his sisters had given him a Polaroid camera with loads of film and a squeal of "We wanna see everything that happens!"

He'd been skeptical, but his parents had insisted it was a nice way of keeping memories. So, despite his initial protests, he'd taken pictures, and they all now lay before him.

A whole summer in so many photos.

Shots of back in Group 2, with the guys mugging for the camera as they hold the girls in old-fashioned movie embraces and the girls giggle. The first shots of the top 10 all together, all hugs and smiles and hopeful glows. The gang in the pool at their first day at the mansion, with Manoah and Elena tossing a beach ball back and forth.

Brandy giving a polite smile as she looks up from her book. Jacob holding the now-infamous cat suit against himself and looking devilish. Kaleb and Josh gazing at guitars on display in the Rock 'n' Roll Museum. Dore manning the barbeque while Jason waits for his burger.

Theresa and Shane tuning their instruments for the Canadian Railroad Trilogy. Signing autographs at the CNE concert. Group shots backstage during the weeks Lionel, Lightfoot, Billy, Gary, and Matt Dusk appeared. Photos from the visit back home, with rows of well-wishers cheering him on...

Memories flood Kalan's mind as he touches every picture- then he finds himself going backwards through the album, looking for one particular image that catches his eye.

"Bingo." He slips the photo from its plastic sheath to get a closer look.

It's from backstage after the Top 6 results, where Elena was hugging everyone in sight, hugging Jacob in this photo. That night had been emotional enough with Elena's departure, but no one got over that Jacob was so close to gone, and didn't even look like he cared.

_And meanwhile I'm having heart attacks on Ye Olde Couches of Doom and Elimination,_ Kalan dryly thinks now. _I had a hard enough time coping with Kaleb and Josh gone, and they were just my friends. If Jacob left too, I would've lost it._

But by luck or Providence, Jacob survived, at Elena's cost.

By and large, Kalan believes the old adage about reading someone's eyes is a load of sweet nothing, but there's definitely something different about the photo he holds. The hour before it was taken, Jacob didn't look like he cared at all about what would happen. But the paper in Kalan's hands tells another story.

It speaks of desperation and uncertainty, lost hope and dread. Jacob's eyes, frozen in that moment forever, said more than any confessional song he'd write from then on.

Kalan lowers the photo with resignation. Shane was right. _Somewhere along the line, Jacob decided this wasn't for him and he wanted out. But why?_

Really, he's had enough of questions. He just wants answers, now or never, and never would never do.

_What am I supposed to do, go right up and confront him? No, bad idea. Nuclear bad._

Kalan gets up and find himself striding down the stairs to where he'd seen Theresa in the game room. He doesn't even know if it's a worthwhile pursuit, but right now- _She's probably got it together more than anyone else._

His guess proves right, Theresa's at the pool table. He stands in the doorway for a moment, remembering a scene of everyone having fun, before things became so serious, then he speaks.

"Theresa?"

She must notice the desperate urgency, putting down her pool cue and stepping over. "Are you OK?"

He numbly shakes his head. "No. I think...we need to talk."

"...Jacob?"

The teen lets out a deep sigh. "You knew?"

"You think I don't know what goes on in this place? I was ready to say something myself; ever since we came back from home. He's been too weird- even for Jacob."

Kalan clutches at his hair in frustration. "Who does he think he is, wanting to back out now? Hasn't he ever thought maybe we're nervous too?"

"If he's thinking straight at all," the young woman adds.

"You think he knows something we don't, something that would make him not want to go any further?"

Theresa cranes her neck to one side for a moment, as if Jacob's listening right around the corner. Then she says, "I wouldn't be surprised. I thought of asking, but..."

Kalan wraps his arms around himself, as if to shield himself from the truth. "But you've been afraid too, huh?" he asks quietly.

"Well," Theresa shrugs, "we know how unpredictable Jacob is. It's hard to tell when he's being serious."

Kalan shakes as his hand curls into a loose fist, and he slowly brings it to his mouth, subconsciously not wanting his fear spoken aloud again. "Theresa...I know it, I just know he's serious now. Asking is a dangerous idea, but being left with this tension-" He lowers is hand in effort to regain control of himself. The last thing he wants right now is to break down. "It's even worse."

Theresa hugs her young friend. "There's only one way to find out." Kalan nods and the two head for the stairs, their fingers loosely weaved together in a touch of comfort, if nothing else.

It's deja-vu all over again for Kalan as they slowly make their way up to Jacob's room, almost as if they don't want him sensing their approach.

Yet they find the door open enough to see Jacob's back to them, holding a phone to his ear and talking quietly. Kalan only picks out words like "suitcase" and "meet up" and "what else?" He turns to Theresa in a wordless question and she nods.

A light tap on the doorframe.

"Just a sec," Jacob calls, then drops his voice again to finish whatever conversation he's having. Then the phone hangs up and he says, "OK, c'mon in."

He turns to face his friends as they sit on the edge of the bed. Theresa asks, "Who was that?"

"Just Kevin," the young man waves it off like it's nothing. "What did you guys want?"

"Well..." Kalan almost bites his lip, them remembers how ridiculous that looks. He says, "Look, I know this seems like a pretty dumb talk to have when we're singing tomorrow. But there's something we've been noticing over the past week."

Jacob looks embarrassed, a little boy caught being naughty. "Meaning?..."

"Look, Jacob, we're not implying anything," though Theresa's expression says _Yes we are_. "Maybe we're reading this all wrong. It could be we're all just stressed out. But since you came back from Abbotsford, things have changed."

"The interviews, the recording session, rehearsals, what- you told me," Kalan almost blurts out "what Shane told me", "your whole attitude towards the show has changed. Is something wrong?"

Jacob sighs, toys with the receiver in his hands. "I'm surprised you guys didn't figure this out earlier."

"We did, we just didn't say anything." Theresa reaches for Jacob's hand and squeezes it gently. "There shouldn't be any secrets among us at this point. Just tell us."

The Abbotsford boy's silent for so long, Kalan's afraid there won't be any answer at all. Jacob's eyes are half-closed, a purely morose expression. Finally he slips his fingers from Theresa's hold and talks. His words are detached, so separated it's like he's not even talking to himself.

"I was pretty dumb about things in the first place, pretty naive. I mean, everyone is in a way, but-" he shrugs- "some realize it quicker than others, long as the spotlight doesn't blind 'em."

"In English, please?" Theresa asks with a faltering smile, but the look she and Kalan get in return tell them this is anything but funny.

"You've seen how it is on all the other Idol shows. Everyone's so happy and hopeful- 'Oh, this is a dream come true! This is a big opportunity! This is my one chance! This is gonna be so much fun!-' You know what? I figured out the truth. This isn't fun or a chance or a dream come true or an opportunity. It's a trap. A trap that keeps us away from everything and everyone we value and love. I..." The first tears well up and Jacob doesn't even bother to wipe them away. "I can't take that."

Theresa and Kalan look at each other in brief epiphany, then the young woman turns back to her friend. "Well, that's normal, Jacob, you're homesick. I'm missing everybody back home, Kalan's got people he misses, everybody that has to do this gets homesick-"

"No, it's not that!" Tears keep falling but his crying's silent, weird boohoo-less bawling that always makes Kalan uncomfortable. "It's not being homesick, it's needing everything. I need my family, I need my friends..._I need Hedley_," he chokes out the last words. "When we were performing again, it reminded me of everything I was giving up. I want to be able to go back to the band, but I can't if I win. None of us could go back to what we did before!"

The other two draw in sharp breaths, surprised at their friend's outburst.

"Jake," Kalan offers slowly, "you're tired. You don't know what you're saying. You-"

"No, listen to me!" He grabs their shoulders, sniffs back his tears, and continues. "We've seen what's happened to Ryan and most of the other 'winners', they become flash-in-the-pan puppets for 19E. A couple singles and it's so long, see you at the Burger King, and no, we don't want fries with that. It doesn't really do anyone a favor to win. The others from last year as free as they want, Brandy through Jason and two of us will be as free as we want, but..." He trails off and shakes his head while Theresa and Kalan are gape-mouthed at this whole spiel. "I mean, this was all a joke for me in the first place. I just wanted to make music with my band and be as free as I wanted...I miss them so much."

His expression dissolves into a hopeless grimace of sorrow on the last words and he collapses in his friends' arms, sobbing like never before, not even on Thursday nights. Kalan and Theresa can't say anything at all; they just hold keep holding him until his crying subsides and sleep overcomes him.

***

Kalan doesn't remember lying Jacob down in his bed, saying an awkward goodnight to Theresa, and retreating to his own room. The next thing he knows is waking the next morning, hearing dishes clattering downstairs and Jacob singing _I Want You To Want Me_ purposely off-tune.

Theresa's already halfway down the stairs by the time Kalan's on the landing. "Is he?..." the teen asks quietly.

"I don't know. Just act normal."

_Like normal means anything around here._

In the kitchen nook, plates and cutlery for three have already been set up, and at the stove, Jacob's mixing and flipping pancakes with the grand gestures of a TV magician and dancing like nothing's happened or could ever happen.

The two look at each other for a beat, then sit.

Jacob turns around with a cheerful "Hey guys! Breakfast is on me!" The microwave dings and he dashes to it, "Whoops, bacon," dropping some bread in the toaster on the way.

"Wow, Jake, you're really going all out," Theresa laughs, her forced smile telling Kalan she wants to add "Why?"

"Meh, it's nothing," the young man shrugs, drops the last pancake in the stack on a plate, and turns off the stove. "Anyway," he continues in all seriousness and sits across from his friends, "about what I said last night-"

"It's OK Jacob, you don't have to apologize-"

"No, it's not OK," he interrupts Theresa. "I was ranting, I was foolish, I was just being a spoiled brat. I own up to it, OK? Open mouth, insert foot, right? Won't happen again, honest."

Kalan nods and thinks for no reason, _Ah, somewhat serious Jacob, how I missed you._

"I mean, we're so close to the end of the line, we all need to ride it out together, right?"

_Riiight._

***

True to his word, Jacob is on his best behavior during the day, during the ride to the theatre, during final sound checks and wardrobe and makeup. In fact, it's the happiest Kalan and Theresa have seen him in weeks. Everything had to be just fine now, how could it not?

Somewhere along the line, the three separate to wander around, help clear their minds and relax before the crowd piles in. Ironically enough, Kalan finds himself watching that same crowd outside through a window. Women, men, kids, families, all ages, all colors, many carrying signs, many wearing hand-printed shirts, some with the blue-and-white logo painted on their faces, and all smiling and chattering in excitement.

_Look at them. They've all brought us to where we are tonight. They've all controlled our lives up to this point. After that, who knows?_

Kalan sighs. _I've heard them say they'd do anything to be in our places in a heartbeat. I bet if they saw all the sacrifices we made, how much we've had to struggle through, how incredibly nervous and confused and lonely and scared it's all made us...if they understood, they wouldn't be so eager._

Kalan doesn't realize he's crying until a tear drops on his hand.

"Oh, Jacob, oh shit," he mutters and tries wiping his eyes without smudging his makeup.

A gentle hand alights on his shoulder and he turns to see Theresa. "I thought I'd find you around here...you're not OK, are you?"

The teen sniffs and shakes his head. "You know...this morning...what we were gonna tell Jacob before he interrupted us...about what he said last night-"

"He's right," Theresa quietly finishes for him. A painful niggling feeling settles in the pit of Kalan's stomach, and he knows his friend feels the same.

"Wouldn't it be great if we could just end this now and not care about the results?"

"Yeah." Kalan wipes his eyes a final time and gives a faint smile. "If wishes were horses, huh?"

There's a moment of silence, and Theresa simply hugs him. "C'mon, we gotta go on soon."

Backstage, the atmosphere tingles with excitement, even if everyone's expressions are all business. In fact, the executive producer has a face of stone as he keeps checking his watch and reading whatever's on the clipboard he carries. Kalan hears the rumble of the crowd pouring in, yet for the first time in weeks he has zero stage fright. He thinks, _Tonight will be a prime example of what Jacob would call "preaching to the choir."_

That's when the weird, near-psychic sensation overcomes him. He tries dismissing it, telling himself he's crazy, but as he follows Theresa to where John stands, the uh-oh grows.

"We're ready," Theresa says for what seems like no reason at all.

John looks at his watch again. "About time," he says. "Where's Jacob?"

Two little words are enough to make Kalan feel completely nauseous; the pit of his stomach goes nyah-nyah. But he's not going to be a downer. "Maybe he's in the men's room?" he offers meekly.

"We're live in six minutes! Fine time to go to the men's room!"

Uh-oh. Welcome back Incredible Hulk John Brunton. You wouldn't like him when he's angry.

Ben walks by, concentrating on his script when John grabs his shoulder. "Ben, go find Dore and tell him to distract the audience. We've got a situation."

"Huh?" Ben looks to Kalan and Theresa for an answer, but only gets the You don't wanna know silent response.

"Just _go_!" John pushes him out of the way and grumbles to himself, Kalan picking up words that wouldn't slide past the CTV censors.

"Ohhh!" Theresa's hands flutter to her mouth, like she just remembered something important. "I saw him in the dressing room on his phone, let me go get him!"

"Thank Christ," John says as Theresa runs off, her high heels clicking. "At least somebody has their head screwed on right around here."

Kalan has become a silent observer to all this madness, but for the first time in weeks, he doesn't care.

Until- "Dudes, who's ready to get this show on the _road_?" Zack bellows from behind, making the teen leap about three feet in the air. "Whoa, geez, sorry Kalan, didn't mean to scare you. Hey, what's going on? You all look like someone died."

If Canadian Idol has a good luck fairy, she has rotten timing. Theresa chose that moment to mournfully call "Oh nooo!" from the dressing room.

Zack and John lock eyes with each other, then with Kalan, and for one flash, they connect. They've caught his uh-oh feeling.

During the world-record dash to the dressing room, Kalan has a ghastly vision of Jacob lying on the floor, eyes glazed, blood pooling from his wrists-

_Don't be an idiot, Jacob wouldn't do that_.

But unpredictable Jacob could do anything.

And yet the real sight is fifty times worse.

Theresa, her face wet with tears, clutching a torn-out Yellow Page.

Le gulp.

"Theresa?..." Kalan's able to find his voice, weak and helpless as it is.

"I don't understand it," the young woman snuffles out. "He was right here..."

Approaching her like she's a ticking time bomb, John takes the Page from her, looks at it, then passes it to Zack, who hands it to Kalan.

Taxi services.

"Mother_fucker_!" Zack explodes. "Leave it to Jacob to ruin our critical show! I'm telling you, dudes, I've had it up to _here_ with him!"

"Get everybody to fan out and check the exits and around the block. He couldn't have gone that far. Go! Go, go..."

Kalan has already rushed away by the time John finishes his orders, but he knows he won't find Jacob anywhere; his suspicions have settled into fact. They're just going through the motions, relying on false hope, because they're supposed to hit the stage in a few minutes and they don't want to accept what he already knows. It's a futile pursuit. After all, when you've lived with someone for a long time, performed with them and have gone through the same stuff any Idol group does, you don't simply know them, you are them. A part of you is a part of them, and a part of them is a part of you. You don't necessarily have to predict what they'll do, you just know. Like Kalan knows:

_Jacob Hoggard has left the building..._

_Jacob Hoggard is not in the house..._

_Jacob Hoggard is gone…_


End file.
